


Never Leave Me

by Cruelintentions



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Love, Obsession, Pregnancy, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruelintentions/pseuds/Cruelintentions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events at the pool with Moriarty, Sherlock starts to become obsessed with Joan. Her safety becomes paramount and her presence necessary for him to focus. Joan tolerates it at first, believing it to be PTSD and she wants to help her friend but it quickly becomes too much and she decides to take a break only Sherlock can't let her do that. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This work is going to be dark. We all know that Sherlock can obsess and his vice before Watson was drugs. Now his vice is her. I'm not sure how far I will take this but I welcome comments and suggestions. I don't know how fast I will be able to update but comments inspire me to write faster.

Chapter One

Joan Watson shuffled around the flat, picking up the various papers and detritus that littered the floor. The fact that they hadn't left the flat for more than fast trips over the past two months had made it to where things were more chaotic inside than normal. Sherlock had been edgy since the pool incident and Joan chalked it up to PTSD. Giving him time and her patience to work through this was the best she could do considering he refused to see a therapist. 

For her, it had been a frightening experience but it hadn't been the first time she'd faced death. The first time had been her second tour in Afghanistan. Her team had been separated when the mobile medical unit had bugged out without them knowing and there had only been her and Joel, a private who was also a nurse. It had taken four days of trekking across the desert and avoiding enemy patrols to get back into safe territory. They had been dehydrated, had severe sunstroke and the worst sunburn imaginable but they survived.

The past few weeks her outings had been extremely limited by Sherlock. He almost seemed to be glued to her like a limpet; going so far as accompanying her everywhere, making excuses to where she didn't need to leave the flat, especially unaccompanied. He had even gotten Mycroft in on his strange behavior by having their food and essentials delivered and laundry picked up and dropped back off.

To say she was uncomfortable with some unknown stranger washing her lacy lingerie by hand was an understatement. 

Mycroft had even secured her time off work for the unforeseeable future due to 'mitigating circumstances' which had resulted in a huge row with Sherlock about personal space. She had relented at the time but enough was enough.

This obsession with Moriarty had taken over everything which was probably what the madman had wanted all along. Joan hadn't even seen Lestrade in weeks. No new cases had been accepted that needed Sherlock to leave the flat and, if they did, Joan would see his eyes slide over to her, he would frown, shake his head and send a firm 'No' to the detective. 

He was her best friend and she had set herself up to help him but it didn't seem to be helping. If anything, he seemed to be getting worse. His attachment to people had been limited to a very small group before but now it seemed that his entire focus had been warped to just her. 

He now knew everything about her. The list was enormous. Everything from how she took her tea and when she preferred it to when she had to go to the bathroom. 

Sherlock was always there. Joan swore that he had even been in her room last night as she had slept. She didn't have proof other than a feeling that she had been being watched and a faint smell of his aftershave on the pillow next to her.

The soft sound of laptop keys clicking to her left brought her attention up from the floor, mugshots of possible Moriarty henchmen glaring up at her crinkled in her fist. She heard him stop typing.

"Joan?"

It was time. Joan threw the pile up papers onto the table. "I'm going out."

The reaction was immediate. Sherlock's eyes widened, panic barely hidden in those blue-grey orbs, his nostrils flared and he jumped up. "I need you here."

It broke her heart seeing the normally confident man looking so strung tight. Sighing, Joan shifted her stance. "I need a break."

Scoffing, the brunette grabbed at a random pile on the desk. "You don't need a break. You were fine a moment ago." He thrust out the papers in a cruel mockery of his usual dismissive self. "Here's the latest on a smuggling ring that MI-6 thinks may have ties to Moriarty. I need your input."

Joan eyed the document and frowned. "I looked at that two days ago." Pursing her lips, she realized she'd have to take action. "And you are fishing for a reason for me to stay here. I need a break. I'm going for a walk."

Joan walked over to the coatrack and grabbed her black jacket. She succeeded in getting it on and opening the door a fraction only for it to be slammed shut. Sherlock had his arms stretched out and was blocking her from leaving, a deranged expression taking over his face that did not belong there. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Joan backed up, her voice hesitant.

"It's not safe! He's taken you before and he could take you again!" Sherlock's voice rose to near hysterical and Joan was scared. More for her friend than herself. He would never hurt her.

Sherlock moved closer, his body looming over her. "I can't lose you, Joan. I can never lose you. He could kill you. He said he would. Moriarty said he would burn the heart out of me." 

Sherlock's long fingers gripped her biceps tight, as if he could physically transfer his desperation by touch and he did. Joan's heart sped up in fear. Moriarty had succeeded in hurting Sherlock. 

She knew what she had to do. Sometimes, it was best to remove a crutch so a person could walk again.

"I'm moving out." 

Sherlock's fingers tightened briefly, causing Joan to wince.

"You can't move out. You don't have enough in savings for a deposit on a new flat." 

Trust Sherlock to state the obvious.

"I'll stay with Sara or Harry until I get back into the swing of things."

The corners of Sherlock's mouth turned down and he frowned. "You despise Harriet for her vices and Sara makes things awkward considering she's your employer. Why would you stay with them when things are perfectly fine and, more importantly, safer here?" 

Once his grip slackened, Joan stepped back quickly, resolve firm in the face of her friend's determination. "Because it's not fine here. It's far from fine, actually. I need a break." 

"You can't leave me! It's not safe and I need you!" Sherlock shouted, the veins prominent on his neck and cheeks coloring pink.

Joan stepped back, eyes widening and her breathing hitched as she wondered if he had truly lost it. Sherlock's hands shot out and Joan almost went into a defensive stance to stop the touch but stopped.

Sherlock must have noticed and finally understood that it was for the best because his hand fell and his expression shuttered turning rapidly neutral.

Nodding curtly, Joan stepped around her roommate and headed for the door, her hand on the doorknob. "I'll be back tonight to pick up a bag. It's just temporary until this all blows over." 

She stepped out and shut the door, not hearing his whispered reply. "I can't let you do that."

....page break because I have no clue how to do it on an iPad...

Sherlock paced the flat, hands pulling at his curls in frustration. He was so close! Soon they would be able to take down Moriarty but then there was the rest of his organization. If Joan left him and was alone, she was at risk. And if she was at risk it distracted Sherlock from his work. 

He needed to fix the problem and for that he needed help. And for that help-Sherlock growled at the thought-he needed Mycroft. Or maybe...maybe he needed something else. Maybe Joan would come back if he just took a little. His eyes darted around the flat. Maybe it would serve two functions. Help him focus temporarily until Joan returned?

As if on cue, there was a metallic tap on the door. Scowling, the brunette turned to see his brother strolling through the entrance, an ubiquitous smile on his face. 

"Lover's quarrel, brother dear?" He asked and moved to stand in front of Joan's usual seat, leaning on the ever present umbrella.

Sherlock's hands drew into fists. "I suppose you know that from your cameras."

"Why that would be an invasion of privacy placing cameras inside your flat." His smile turned smug. "I know it from the microphones and the infrared camera located across the road."

He turned to sit but grimaced at the chair. Taking out an handkerchief, he dusted the seat and lowered himself, fixing Sherlock with an intense look. Sherlock followed his older sibling's example.

"But to be fair, Sherlock, I didn't even need those to know what happened. It was obvious." 

Snarling, Sherlock felt his temper rising. Mycroft had always felt that he was superior to him and the fact that he may "have one over him" was a low blow. "What are you talking about?"

A long-suffering sigh. "You, my dear brother, have a gift of determining acts after they're done by the evidence. I, on the other hand, excel at predicting events. After only a few days, I foresaw this happening. Although, I was surprised at how long it took."

Mycroft eyed the general chaos of the sitting room, eyes narrowing on the skull. "So predictable, brother." He stood abruptly and went over to the mantle, lifted up the skull and snatched the small plastic bag that Sherlock had taped to the top.

Sherlock's brows drew together. His breathing quickened as Mycroft tucked away the bag. "Your work has been slipping as of late and it's not difficult to deduce why. I told you that affection and sentiment was a weakness." 

"If you're just here to criticize then you can leave."

Mycroft smiled, a dark dangerous smile that was reminiscent of a shark about to devour it's prey. "Oh, I'm not here to criticize. I'm here to help. Since the incident at the pool, I've been taking steps to ensure success with or without your dear doctor's consent."

A sliver of doubt creeped in. "I can't hurt her."

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft stood in front of his brother. "You wouldn't be. You would just be ensuring a favorable outcome for all. Your work would no longer suffer distraction, Joan would be safe from Moriarty and his people, you would be happy and safe from your own vices which would also increase the likelihood of a faster removal of this particular cancer." Mycroft placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes softening. For all that people called him the Iceman, he always cared about Sherlock.

"You love Dr. Watson, don't you?"

It wasn't really a question but Sherlock nodded to answer anyway. He also knew she loved him but not in the same way. He loved the way she smelled, the way she moved. He loved it when she slept and her hair would form a golden halo around her. He loved her voice even when she called him a prat. He loved it when she would force him to watch stupid tele programs and ask him to predict the outcomes and when she would laugh. Most of all, he loved her. He wanted her. All of her. He wanted a future with her. To grow old with her by his side, always. To be able to be called her husband and she his wife. To have children and see her swell with his love, grow heavy with their children. He shifted in his seat, his pants becoming tight at the thought of Joan beneath him. To touch all of her, to possess her and become one with her.

Their offspring would be a perfect mixture of them. To see a little human being that had his mind but her wonderful heart. Maybe her smile and his dark curls or her beautiful hair and his eyes. 

Everything would become new again and he would keep them safe forever. With the help of Mycroft. That was an unfortunate but necessary blemish on his hopes. 

"I can help." He sat back down and crossed his legs, umbrella resting on his thighs. His brother's phone chirped and he looked down, almost like he was bored by the information. "She has met up with her employer Miss Sawyer and, not only is Miss Sawyer giving her a place to stay, she is setting her up on a blind date with a colleague that is in town for a conference." 

He saw red, a vice clamping around his heart and fire racing through his veins at the thought of someone else with Joan. Then, just as quickly, there was concern. What if this stranger was part of the carefully constructed web his foe had created? And anger crept back in at the thought that Joan was leaving him. People had left before and it hadn't bothered him but Joan was different. She focused him. She was his conductor of light even just by being in the same room as him while he worked.

Sherlock turned to his brother. "I'll do anything to keep her, Mycroft. Tell me what to do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not feeling it with this chapter so I hope it's good. Please review. Any tips, suggestions or wishes are always welcome! Plus, reviews always make my day!

Chapter Two

Joan trudged up the stairs to 221B, heart heavy at the thought of leaving but she knew it was the right thing to do for both of them. Being with Sherlock was like orbiting the sun. It was bright and beautiful but, at the same time, it was a huge gravitational force pulling her in. She had reached critical mass and was forgetting to live her life, that she was a separate being from him and that there was a life outside of Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock needed to re-establish himself and find his center again. He would be better once he could do that. He would heal from this, learn to focus once more. Joan had to reassure herself because it felt so wrong to leave. 

Talking to Sara had been helpful. Getting an outsider's and fellow physician's opinion had been enlightening and it had reassured Joan that this was the right move. Sara didn't know the whole story because Joan didn't want to frighten her but she knew enough to get a fair idea of the situation.

Joan opened the door and almost had to step out again to be sure she was in the right flat. There was still the general chaos but it was clean. The papers had been taken off the wall and placed into file boxes, floor swept, every surface dusted and there was a mouth watering smell of pasta, tomatoes and garlic that had Joan breathing deeper. 

Peering around the corner, Joan spied Sherlock plating up two servings of spaghetti bolognese. It was a very surreal sight as she'd never seen him touch the cooker unless it was to test how flesh reacted to different forms of heat and temperatures. That had been a disgusting afternoon.

Sherlock looked up as he placed the plates on the clean kitchen table (another sight she never thought she'd see in 221B). His smile was sad upon seeing her and Joan felt a stab of guilt. Sara had set her up to have a late dinner with a friend of hers, Michael Morstan, as a sort of 'getting back out there' thing. 

"Joan." 

She grimaced at the hidden plea. "I...can't. I'm meeting someone." 

Sherlock's face hardened. "You could still have drinks with him later." 

Scowling, Joan waved her hands. "How did you...never mind." She turned to head up the stairs but Sherlock's voice stopped her.

"You were right. I was fishing for a way to keep you here. I felt it necessary to protect you." He sighed and stepped closer. "I care for you a great deal and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you." 

Joan hung her head, the guilt magnifying. She could see what he was doing. A peace offering. Apologies were a rarity from him and he must have realized that he had been wrong. 

"I was hoping we could have a last meal together as roommates." He looked so hopeful that she couldn't say no. "Looks fantastic." She stated with false enthusiasm.

She sat at the table, back to the kitchen and waited while Sherlock fumbled with a bottle of red. She could hear him rummaging in the cabinets, probably trying to find the correct glasses, while she stared at the plate. It really did look good. 

He came around and placed a glass at her right and sat down with his own. The air was thick with unsaid things and both of them awkwardly fiddled with their pasta, Sherlock watching her intently as if she might bolt at any minute. Joan smiled thinly. "This is...nice."

She didn't really feel hungry and took a long drink of her wine to have something to do. It was more bitter than she preferred but she swallowed it anyway. "So, I see you've boxed up your work. Are you taking cases from Lestrade again?" 

Steepling his fingers under his chin, he leaned forward. "Not as such. I think a change of scenery may assist in my efforts and, technically, some of Moriarty's crimes fall under Lestrade's purview."

Joan stifled a yawn, her body feeling suddenly tired. The emotional stress must be taking a toll and she took another sip of her wine. "So, you're taking a trip?"

"Of sorts." He leaned forward, eyes bright as he moved closer. Joan's fingers fumbled with her silverware, her limbs becoming heavy and clumsy. Blinking slowly, Joan felt exhausted. More tired than she must have realized. 

Her phone beeped as her vision started to turn blurred, like a camera that couldn't focus. Joan started to try and collect the mobile but her arms were sluggish and she overbalanced landing into Sherlock's waiting arms as he knelt by her chair. She blinked, confused at the situation. 

Joan felt Sherlock brusquely go through her trouser pocket and pull out her mobile, typing one handed and quickly pocketing the device. "I don't think you'll be going out with Michael anytime soon." 

This sent of red flags in her hazy mind. Joan shifted, moving floppy arms to try and get up and away but Sherlock simply picked her up as if she weighed nothing and laid her on the settee. Joan tried to get up again but Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder, gently holding her in place.

Joan shook her head and continued trying to rise, Sherlock's eyes glittering dangerously as he watched her attempts. "Just stop fighting it, Joan. I won't let you put yourself in danger if I can help it." 

"N-nooo." Her tongue felt swollen and clumsy in her mouth and the edges of her vision started to turn black.

"I love you too much." A press of dry lips against hers and the smell of Sherlock's aftershave followed her into morpheus's arms as Joan lost the battle to stay awake.

Sherlock watched as the fight drained away in Joan's eyes and her face become slack in sleep. He hated that Joan had forced his hand but needs must. It was for her own good. 

With a lingering kiss to her forehead, he forced himself to text Mycroft that everything was ready. It was only moments before black suited agents filled the flat, Anthea followed behind them typing on her blackberry and directing their work as they moved the necessary belongings and, once done, a second team came in with a stretcher. 

Joan's limp form was carefully lifted and secured. With a nod, they left carrying Joan between them. 

"Mr. Holmes is on his way to the estate. Both of your absences have been explained and understood by the relevant parties." She reached into the large bag on her shoulder and handed him a slim folder. "He requests that before you return to the estate that this matter is resolved."

Sherlock sneered. He hated that his brother was able to hold this over his head. Flipping open the folder, he nodded to Anthea dismissing her. 

"Mr. Holmes estimates this should take a matter of hours, possibly a day. This way Miss Watson should be settled in and comfortable before you arrive."

"Busywork. How typical." He hissed and scanned the documents, leaving with a flourish of his long coat. He would see Joan soon. She would be his.

 

Ooooooo page break because my iPad is anti-page break oooooooo

Joan groaned, her head pounded and her mouth was dry. Opening her eyes, she realized she didn't know where she was. There was a steady beeping to her right that any doctor would recognize but the room she was in could hardly be called a hospital. 

It was a large bedroom, more like an en-suite hotel room with antique heavy oak furniture that decorated the space. Heavy, dark red velvet drapes covered the oversized windows to her left and Joan could see that she was in a huge four-poster bed. The last thing she remembered was-

"Sherlock!" She lurched forward to try and get up but found her hands and feet were strapped down tight. "What the hell?" She fought against the straps and looked down to herself. Joan was in a set of loose pajamas that she'd never seen before. The restraints were medical grade. The type used on patients at risk of harming themselves so they were utterly inescapable. Sherlock! That bastard had drugged her! She was going to kill him!

There was an IV in her right arm with a bag of fluids hanging from a pole with a pump administering it at a steady dose. There was also a monitor that was taped onto her forefinger that gave her readings on a screen next to the pump. 

A soft click made her crane her neck to the double doors. Mycroft came in, a small smile playing on his lips as he approached her bed. Joan's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" She jerked her arms stuck at her sides in emphasis.

Mycroft came to stand near the bed on her right, closest to her. He ignored her question for the moment, looking her up and down. It was as if he was x-raying her with his scrutiny.

He reached out a hand, brushing a strand of her hair off her face that had fallen in her struggles to get out of the bed but his fingers lingered on her cheek. Joan refused to let him know how much she wanted to shake him off. His touch sent unpleasant feelings to the pit of her stomach and it churned in response. She glared at him. 

"My brother has a rather unusually strong attachment to you, Miss Watson." He pulled his hand back and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his legs seeped through the duvet. Joan shifted away as much as her bonds would allow.

"It's called friendship, Mycroft. Perhaps that's a foreign concept to you. Although, I'm re-thinking it now." She snapped.

Mycroft chuckled and it just made the urge to throttle him even stronger. "I think it's more commonly known as love, Miss Watson."

"If this is love then I'd rather pass." She rattled at the restraints holding her. "Unlatch these and I'll show Sherlock just how much love I'm feeling." Joan growled.

Mycroft sighed and gave Joan a look of disappointment. "My brother loves you more than anything. He is proving it by enlisting my assistance in ensuring your safety. I have often warned him of the consequences of such an affliction."

Joan rolled her eyes. "I am not in danger. Moriarty doesn't care and hadn't shown any interest since that night."

"I'm rather afraid Sherlock tipped his hand that night in showing just how far he was willing to go for you. There is little doubt that Moriarty would strike at the right moment to ensure my brother's downfall thus ensuring my own and that of Great Britain's. The constant threat of your safety being in question has caused untold harm in Sherlock's ability to focus. You are the chink in his armor, his Achille's tendon." 

He swallowed and Joan watched the emotions play on his face. Determination, fear, confidence, everything was visible. "While you make him weak in the eyes of his enemies, in actuality, your presence makes him stronger. During his time with you he stayed clean, was able to solve cases better and quicker than ever and he was happy." 

His expression turned dark and a tendril of fear trickled down her spine. "You cannot leave him. Ever."

Joan laughed, a hysterical high pitched sound. "You can't be serious! You're what...going to keep me prisoner?" 

"If that is how you choose to spend your time here, then yes." The door opened again and Anthea strode in, handing Mycroft a small note. He nodded his thanks and Joan shouted out, hoping to get her attention. Couldn't she see how wrong this was? She was simply ignored as if she was nothing more than a piece of furniture. She tried reasoning with her jailer.

"Look, Mycroft, I wasn't leaving Sherlock. I was just moving out temporarily to get some space. I was still going to help him on cases and be his friend." She pleaded but he wasn't moved. If anything, he looked angry.

"Yes. I could see that but I could also see that you were moving on as most people are wont to do. It would work at first but then you would find someone, spend more time with him, possibly fall in love with him and marry him and all the while Sherlock would be forced to watch the woman he cared for be with another man." 

He took another deep breath. "It would break him and I can't abide by that."

Joan felt awful about that. She really did but she had her life, too. "I love Sherlock, Mycroft. I do but I love him. As. A. Friend. I can't stay here." Joan explained. "Especially like this." 

Mycroft's eyes drifted to hers. "Did you know that before you his companion was a skull?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you are an healthier alternative. Once you accept how things are supposed to be there could be a future. Things may have to be pushed and tweaked a little faster to ensure your cooperation but steps have been taken to try and smooth things out."

"Steps? What steps? What are you talking about?" 

Joan could feel her leg twinge in pain at the thought of being a prisoner. Endless days stuck here. Iron bands wrapped around her ribs and Joan started to breathe faster, trying to get enough air. "I can't. I can't!" There was a dull roar in her ears and everything was muted as pure panic took over. Joan thrashed in her bonds, futilely trying to get away. 

Warmth suddenly travelled up her arm and a sleepy feeling of calm clouded her mind. Joan's breathing slowed and she saw an old man in a doctor's lab coat withdrawing a syringe from her IV port. She tried to panic and fight again but she couldn't. 

"Please, help me!" She begged the doctor and he shook his head, patting her arm much like a parent would comfort a recalcitrant child and he turned to speak to Mycroft who had moved to the far corner of the room. 

She couldn't hear what they were saying but she could see them. The doctor said something and Mycroft nodded and shook the man's hand before he left. The elder Holmes came back to the bed and pulled a large wingback chair over, sitting on her right again.

"Doctor Thompson has let me know that it may take some time for you to adjust to your new situation." 

The drug had taken most of the fight out of her and Joan lay on the bed, fully relaxed against her will.

"There will be bumps in the road but, in time, you will come to understand that what was done was for the best. You will have everything you could ever need and will want for nothing." 

"I want my freedom." She slurred. 

"Freedom is little more than a state of mind." 

"Please let me go. Sherlock can't really think this is ok." She tried to reassure herself more than convincing the elder Holmes.

Mycroft leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck. "Oh, but he does." 

Joan felt bile rise up in the back of her throat and had to force herself to not vomit. She shook her head, vehemently trying to force Mycroft's lies away from her. "No. You're lying."

Mycroft looked at her with something akin to pity. "I can assure you, I am not lying. He wants to be with you and, fortunately for him, his skill set makes it to where he is extremely useful to the British government so his one request was simple to grant. That request was you."

"What?" Joan gasped.

Mycroft rolled his eyes let out a dramatic sigh. "Yes, I know. He could have asked for almost anything but all he wanted was you, safe and sound and in a position that you cannot leave his side." 

"So the British government is keeping me here, against my will, to be what? Sherlock's friend?" 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. 

"His companion?" Joan hedged. The alternative was unthinkable. "What, then? Answer me, Mycroft!" 

Mycroft refused to look at her, instead pulling out his pocket watch. "I think this part of the discussion should be left to Sherlock. He will be here momentarily." Standing up, the elder Holmes straightened his blazer and waistcoat, looking as impeccable as ever despite the fact that he had acquired a prisoner. 

He was all business as he stepped back. "The nurse will be here in a minute to bring you some food and something to drink. I'd suggest you rest for the time being."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon! Ideas on how to make everything even more messed up for Joan! No idea is too mean! Just remember, Sherlock loves her in his own twisted way!

Chapter Three

Joan had refused to eat the food that the nurse was attempting to spoon into her mouth and had turned away from the straws with juice. After an hour, the young woman had left, frustrated and worried. She had spent the next two hours glaring around the room that was her cell. It may have been a gilded cage but a cage is still a cage. 

She carefully twisted her hand, tucking her thumb securely and tugged in a corkscrew pattern. She only needed to get one hand out and then she could try to escape. She knew her chances were slim but just lying here was not an option.

Joan was pulling and twisting when the door opened again, this time admitting Sherlock. She froze and turned away. 

"Oh, Joan. You would not believe what inane task my brother had me do." 

She felt the bed shift he climbed in next to her. Joan ground her teeth and clenched her hands into fists. He was seriously going to act as if this was normal?

A hand brushed her hair away from her face, gently trailing along her neck and tracing lazy circles on the flesh, almost tickling her. Joan refused to react beyond tensing instinctively. It was the press of lips against the nape of her neck that had her wriggle away from Sherlock's touch.

"Don't." She growled and to her surprise, Sherlock stopped but his hands didn't leave her. He pulled the duvet down and started fiddling with her wrist, tutting and rubbing the bruised joint.

"Even if you were to remove the restraints, there is a team of secret service agents on the property, security cameras outside the room and the window is bulletproof therefore, it is also unbreakable, on the third floor and sealed."

"You expect me to just give up?" 

Sherlock hummed in thought, fingers never moving from her wrist. "I can't deny that I had hoped you would accept how things are but I anticipated your reaction." 

Joan snorted and shifted her hand to try and dislodge his hold. "I should never have trusted you. I should have never come back after meeting with Sara." 

Sherlock's hand trailed across to her abdomen underneath the thin pajamas and he moved closer, his hand inching downwards as his lips touched her ear. "You never stood a chance." His fingers creeped under her waistband and Joan froze, stiff as lips kissed behind her ear. "There was a plan B, C and even a plan D." 

"Sherlock," She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and he shifted and crawled under the sheets with her. "You don't want to do this. I'm your friend."

"I have wanted you for so long." 

His pelvis thrust against her hip and she could feel him hard and hot against her. Sherlock's fingers dipped lower and Joan tried to close her legs but the restraints kept her from achieving her goal.

"You are so soft but so strong." The first touch to her folds caused her to jerk and Sherlock's breath hitched and he pressed further, rubbing against her and circling his fingers against her opening. 

"Don't. Please don't." She gasped. Her eyes burned and she could feel tears filling them. Joan blinked them away and jerked her hips even though it was futile. Sherlock's middle finger slowly plunged in and stayed still inside her, cupping her sex.

"What are you doing?" A choked off sob made her words sound garbled but Sherlock understood her. He shifted to lean over her and removed his fingers, his normally bright blue eyes dark, and very frightening. Joan had seen that look before. When he had seen Moriarty come out from behind her at the pool. 

"Don't you see what I am doing?" He started unbuttoning the pajama top, fingers caressing each sliver of skin revealed, his eyes not leaving hers as he cupped her breasts reverently. He ducked down and kissed each one, pausing to mouth gently at her nipples.

"I am-" he moved lower and pulled the duvet completely off, trailing kisses down her belly. "-going to-" his hand reached into his pocket and a small pair of scissors appeared. He quickly cut away the bottoms and her underwear, groaning and cupping himself as she was bared to him. "-make love to the woman I love." 

Joan sobbed and tried to shift away but Sherlock planted a restraining hand on her thigh, using his other to part her folds, his pupils widened to where only a thin sliver of blue was visible and his breathing sped up as his finger trailed up and down her.

"Sherlock, you don't want to do this." Joan pleaded but he ignored her as if she hadn't even spoken. Instead, he quickly she'd his clothes, pale skin gleaming a Joan's eyes were drawn to his penis. It was long, flushed and curved upwards, a drop of precome beading at the tip. It was the sight of it that set Joan off, she started to fight against the restraints like a madwoman. 

The feel of it at her entrance caused her to stop, breathing heavily with tears running down her cheeks. "Please, don't do this." She begged and cried out as he pushed forward an inch, the tip inside. 

He was now leaning over her, his knees spreading her legs as far as the restraints would allow and his arms caging her. His face was a dark red and his eyes screwed tight.

"Oh God, Joan! You are so tight. So perfect." He exhaled shakily and pulled back slowly to push forward a little more. The stretch burned. It had been a long time since she had been with anyone.

"Even though you're scared, you're so wet." He pulled back and pushed forward a little more. Joan turned her head away, choking on her cries.

"Do you know why that is?" Every tiny thrust brought him closer and it wasn't long before he stopped moving, impaling her completely. His breathing was erratic, excited and he mouthed at her chest while she remained as still as a statue.

"You are a doctor. You should know this." 

She exhaled. "I know that my former best friend is raping me." 

He laughed and thrust again, groaning at the sensation of her gripping him. "Women tend to produce more when they are ovulating." 

At least she didn't have to worry about that. As awful as this was, she had been on the pill for years. It would take months before she was able to get pregnant.

His thrusts became more forceful, each one knocking her slightly as he gripped her hips, her ribs, anything he could touch. It went on and on until he stopped, shoving himself deep where she could feel him twitch and come inside her. Joan almost threw up. He shuddered and exhaled, collapsing on top of her.

He remained inside her until his penis softened and slipped out. The wet feeling between her legs made her feel disgusting. Sherlock pressed his lips to hers, uncaring that she didn't respond and leaned back, parting her legs. "Beautiful." 

"I know what you're thinking, Joan."

She refused to look at him. "Oh, you don't want to know what I am thinking right now, you bastard." Images of her stabbing, shooting, and killing Sherlock in creative ways shot through her mind at lightning speed.

"You're thinking that your birth control will protect you. That you won't have our child." He move to lie next to her, kissing her scarred shoulder and pulling the sheets over them in a cruel mockery of post-coital cuddling.

His leg draped over hers and his hand unerringly found her belly. "But you're wrong. You have been taking placebos for more than six months. The doctor confirmed that you are more than fertile for the next two days." His left hand roamed her body, touching her where he had just been and he sighed in pleasure, feeling the swollen damp flesh. 

It was like she'd been punched in the chest, her breathing came quicker and she had to force herself to slow down. "No." 

"I had hoped that I could have ensured you remain with me without Mycroft's interference but this way there will be proof of our love and you and our children will be safe from him." 

He rubbed what was supposed to be soothing circles on her belly, as if he was trying to calm a spooked animal. "It is the only way. The threat of Moriarty and his criminal empire could take years to fully dismantle and I need you at my side to do that but in a safe place. Here, you can have a sense of normalcy but still work from a distance." 

Joan thought about how accommodating Mycroft had been and an idea sprouted, firmly taking root. "You know that Mycroft is as bad as Moriarty. He's using me to control you. Can't you see this?" 

Sherlock paused in his ministrations, his face becoming pensive. He shifted over her and leaned close, his mouth next to her ear as he whispered. "Oh, I can see it, Joan, but why would I cut off my nose to spite my face." 

He spread his knees forcing her legs apart again and Joan started crying as she felt him hard again, pressing into her with a lewd moan.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Joan watched as Dr. Thompson and the nurse fiddled in the corner with her urine and blood samples, labeling and sending some out while they tested others immediately under Mycroft's watchful eyes. Since Sherlock had left on his mission the elder Holmes had been stopping in regularly, as if to remind her of just who she was battling.

Thompson had become extra vigilant in her care when Mycroft was near. It was more than likely that something was being held over him. She could read it by the fear in his eyes when she had tested positive with an UTI last week. The doctor sighed and smiled, bringing the stick to Mycroft to let him see. Joan felt a sick sense of dread at Mycroft's smile when he looked down. 

"Well, it certainly looks like you and my brother were far more compatible than I'd dared hoped." 

Joan wondered if she could make it across the room to punch Mycroft before she was stopped by his goons. 

He looked up from test and tsked, shaking his head. "I wouldn't recommend it, Doctor Watson. You wouldn't get far."

"But it'd still feel bloody wonderful." She snapped back and it only served to make him smile wider. 

"Now now, Doctor, we wouldn't want anything to happen to you especially since you're carrying precious cargo." He gave her a meaningful look and whispered something to Dr. Thompson who nodded in agreement and quickly left.

The past month had been the longest of her life. Her attempts to escape had been largely unsuccessful and, as a result, a tracking anklet had been attached to her. She hadn't been able to remove it either. The one time she had gotten a hold of a knife, it had withstood her assault with barely a scratch despite her frantic sawing. 

"I shall see you downstairs for brunch, Dr. Watson." He twirled his umbrella and walked out.

It wasn't a request. 

In walked Craig, still sporting the black-eye from Joan's last escape attempt. She had gotten to the main road before he had caught her and she had fought like a mad woman. That had been before the ankle tracker had been put on. 

Craig held out a pale periwinkle sundress with short sleeves and a creme cardigan with a pair of ballet flats. She despised dresses and wondered if Mycroft had picked that outfit on purpose. She always felt more vulnerable in a dress. 

"Are we going to have a problem, Miss. Watson?" He grunted.

Joan debated whether to fight him. The last time it had ended up to where she had been given enough Valium to down a horse and she had still had to attend tea with Mycroft. It had been mortifying to say the least but at least she had been able to stab his hand with her salad fork when he had been on a business call. His face had turned an alarming shade of puce and he had stuttered during his conversation but had otherwise remained calm as he pulled the fork out and signaled for her to be taken away.

Joan grabbed the clothing from Craig and went to the loo, quickly washing and pulling on the clothes. She deliberately avoided the make up on the counter and just left her hair down, knowing that it annoyed Mycroft. The dress hung loose on her and Joan checked the size but it was already a size smaller than she used to be before this ordeal had begun. 

Looking in the mirror, Joan was surprised that it was her looking back. Her cheek bones had become more pronounced, her eyes seemed larger and dark circles were prominent. Her overall color was paler making her freckles seem more vibrant and, her normally sun bleached blond hair seemed darker since she had yet to go outside for longer than an hour a day. 

As she thought about her predicament, she wondered if she should have listened to Donovan warning her away that first day. She wondered if they were looking for her. She worried about her sister. They weren't close but they had been trying to work things out since Harry had started rehab.

Joan sighed and pushed the morbid thoughts away, knowing that could've, would've, should've wasn't going to help her now. She exited and Craig was right outside her door, ready to take her arm in a false mimicry of a gentlemanly fashion. 

Craig led her into the dining room and Mycroft put down his paper, frowning at her as she took the seat opposite him. Joan just glared at him as the staff brought breakfast plates, tea, coffee and juice. Mycroft buttered a scone and Joan remained still, refusing to acknowledge the food.

"You are losing weight." 

Joan stared ahead, willing herself to ignore him.

"I am responsible for your health during Sherlock's absence." He put down the knife and eyed her, his silver eyes holding her in place. "Tell me, Joan, do you have any experience with nasogastric tubes?"

"Not from personal experience. Usually, I-"

"See that it stays that way, Doctor." His eyes narrowed at her with his threat and Joan looked at the plate, piled high with food and her stomach turned.

"You wouldn't." 

He put down his half-eaten breakfast. "I would if it became necessary."

Her eyes narrowed at the British government. "Perhaps, I am simply too disgusted to eat." 

Mycroft sighed and signaled to the staff to take away their plates, hers untouched.

"Perhaps a stroll across the grounds?" He stood and gestured with an arm out.

"I'm not really dressed for a walk." She replied with a sneer.

"Nonsense. I insist." His smile took on a more dangerous tone and Joan relented, standing slowly and taking the proffered arm.

Mycroft led her out to the expansive back gardens, Craig keeping a discreet distance. Joan looked closer at her jailer noticing that he had a few more lines around his eyes. He looked tired. 

"Not getting enough sleep, Mycroft?" She asked with false sweetness.

He chuckled, patting her hand and kept walking. "Ever the doctor." He led them to a small bench near a rose bush and sat. 

"It has been a difficult week but today's news has brightened my day." He smiled at her. 

It was as if she could feel the intruder growing in her, sucking her freedom and life away. Joan looked across the grounds and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"When we first met, I had known you were special. I had believed that my brother would not see it and I had almost hoped that he wouldn't. He tends to be rather short sighted when it comes to people and I waited. I watched you far closer than anyone before." 

Joan turned to Mycroft and saw that his eyes were distant, regretful. "You had overcome such impossible obstacles and only became stronger." He took a deep breath. "You gained my attention the moment you met my eyes. No fear. It was not a sight I was accustomed to and it was refreshing." 

Suspicion bloomed in her gut and Joan felt faint. What was he saying? She couldn't ask. It was too frightening for her.

"Had Sherlock not shown an interest I would have." Joan's legs crumpled under her as she went down to the ground. She couldn't believe it. 

"I suggested spiriting you away to safety the moment I had known you were in danger because I cared for you. I couldn't risk you just as Sherlock couldn't. It seems that you have bewitched the both of us, Joan." His grey eyes watched her but there was a fire behind them as he observed. 

"If something should happen to Sherlock, know that you will always be safe under my care. My reach is impressive and I care for you deeply." 

Was she breathing? Her vision blurred and it was like she was floating. The colors of the grounds around her seemed at once both dull and vivid. 

A body came up behind her while gentle hands pushed her head back to rest on a chest. She knew it was Mycroft by the smell of his aftershave. He carded fingers through her hair and shushed her, trying to calm her. He spoke nonsense, like a mother to her child when they are upset and overwhelmed. 

"I am sorry if I frightened you. I need you to understand just how important you are. I would not do anything to hurt you. It is my intention to keep you safe from Moriarty and his people. If that means keeping you here against your will, then that it what I will have to do." 

Joan finally got her breathing under control but was too exhausted to move. "But what you're doing...what Sherlock is doing is hurting me far more than what he would do." 

She felt his chest move as he took a deep breath and sighed. "My brother's compliance and skills had to be secured by Britain. The only way to do this was to acquiesce to his wishes." 

"I will die here." 

"It seems that I need to modify your care to protect you from yourself as well. You will not...you cannot die. If you do..." He squeezed his arms together hugging Joan tighter. "It won't happen."

"Even if you keep my body alive by force, who I am will die. People weren't meant to live like this, Mycroft." She was so tired. Despite the temptation of just giving in, she couldn't. 

"It's only for a short while. A few years at most then you and Sherlock can return to Baker Street." 

Joan snorted. "You honestly believe that I would willingly stay after what happened? He raped me...over and over. I can never forgive him for that." She pushed herself up off Mycroft. 

"And I can never forgive you for helping. You let him. In fact, you encouraged it." 

"I believe you would stay for the child." 

"Don't count on it." 

"You would punish a child for something they are not responsible for?" Mycroft's voice rose in surprise.

Joan felt awful. While Mycroft was right, it still didn't make it any better. She couldn't look at a child created by this without feeling disgust. It would remind her of what he did every time she saw their face.

"I would. If I could abort, I would. As it is, I am going to keep fighting in the only ways I know possible." 

Mycroft shook his head sadly. "Oh, Joan. Give it time. In time, you will come to realize this is for the best." 

Mycroft snapped his fingers as he stood and Dr. Thompson came up to them with a wheelchair. She debated fighting but was so tired. Thompson and Craig lifted her and placed her in the chair. Mycroft waved them off and started pushing her.

"Sherlock will be returning next week." 

Joan felt her panic returning and she gripped the armrests tight, her knuckles turning white.

"I expect you to have started eating appropriately and to be a more willing partner for when he returns." 

"You want me to lay back and think of England?" She retorted and Mycroft's jaw clenched.

"What would assist you with your transition?" 

"I can promise you that there is nothing that I want from you except my freedom." Joan turned in the chair to see Mycroft. "You said you care for me? Let me go." 

He kept pushing, refusing to meet her eyes and Joan knew she'd struck a chord. "If you knew what I knew, you would understand." 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Joan lay on the bed, staring at the wall. Mycroft's people had been forced to resort to almost constant IV nutrition after she had stopped drinking in addition to eating. Each day she grew weaker and she could see Thompson arguing with Mycroft on the aspect of enteral nutrition. 

Each day her food trays were taken away with barely a bite taken. The staff had started attempting to entice her to eat by bringing all of her favorites. She still refused to eat. She knew Sherlock was returning tomorrow. This was her only way to fight back. They could take her body but they could not take her forever.

"Joan, you have to eat. I really don't wish to do this." He leaned close to her and she could smell his aftershave but she just closed her eyes and rolled over. He sighed and she knew what was coming. 

Warmth spread up her arm and her eyes closed.

The next time she woke she could feel the tubing taped to her face, down her throat. She had a small female nurse pressing the information on the pump that was administering the enteral feed. Joan just ignored her and went back to sleep.

She woke again and noticed it was dark, the curtains drawn in her room and she wasn't alone. She knew he was back before she opened her eyes. 

"Why are you doing this?" He asked quietly. Sherlock looked exhausted but his eyes were a stormy, angry grey as he looked at her, his fingers steepled under his chin. His clothes were dirty and tattered and he needed a shave. 

Joan refused to answer.

"You are being unreasonable." He growled.

Her eyebrows drew down as she glared at him but she still refused to answer. 

Sherlock stood, his hands in his hair and paced. "Joan, you cannot do this. I won't let you do this. Sooner or later you will have to eat." 

"Let me go." Joan whispered.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to her, wide and afraid. "I can't. Do you know what he threatened after? He was going to kill you. He was going to kill you and make me watch. I'm sorry that I am selfish but I need you. I want to be with you in every way possible and I need you. You are my conductor of light." 

Joan felt the bed shift as Sherlock climbed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His breath tickled the back of her neck as he breathed her in. 

"Knowing you are safe helps me focus my thoughts. You are like a drug, stronger than cocaine and twice as addictive." He nuzzled her neck and used his left hand to skim under her night shirt, his palm settling just above her pubic bone...where the baby was.

"I cannot let you go." His lips brushed just behind her ear and Joan shuddered in his grasp.

"Nor will I be able to let our child go." 

"You'll get bored." She told him.

Sherlock's grip tightened and his hips moved closer to where he was spooning her, he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck and his left hand caressed her belly. "Doubtful." 

He started to gently move his hips against her and Joan almost cried. She could feel his length at her back. "Don't." Her voice was weak.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" His left hand crept down, under her pajama bottoms and into her underwear. 

"I want you to feel the same. I want to learn everything about you. The sounds you can make, what color your skin turns when you orgasm, the look on your face." Sherlock whispered into her hear, his breath hot.

His fingers dipped lower and Joan wondered what was wrong with her. Her fear was almost making her pant but she felt a heat in her core as his fingers brushed against her, gently at first. Small teasing touches.

"I spent hours thinking about it, calculating every possible outcome and do you know what conclusion I came to?" His fingers became more firm, finding her clitoris and circling it. Joan debated clamping her legs shut but Sherlock's right hand tightened in warning.

"I realized there are thousands of possibilities. I could never see them all. Now that we're together and you are safe, I can try." His hips rubbed firmly against her and his breathing picked up while his hand became more sure, his thumb now stroking and his first two fingers dipping inside. 

Joan struggled to stay still, to fight the coil winding, her breathing coming in short bursts. 

"Oh, yes. I can make you happy. You just need to let me in." His voice became rough as he sped up his fingers and he played her as well as he played his violin, her orgasm crashing through her despite her fight. 

She was still trembling with the aftershocks when he pulled her bottoms down and pushed in, grunting with pleasure. His left hand pulling at her hip to angle her as he thrust and his right arm keeping her from pulling away from sensitivity and shock.

"Oh, God, Joan! You are fantastic. You feel..." He thrust harder, his breathing loud in her ear. "You feel made for me." 

She felt his movement more intensely after her orgasm, her body still twitching as he moved. His mouth latched onto the side of her neck and his words burned into her skin. "You are mine, Joan. Always." 

Groaning his release, he kissed her shoulder above her scar and stayed in her as long as he could. She held still, exhausted and ashamed. 

"Don't overthink, Joan. It tends to not usually work out too well in the end."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm not too happy with this chapter. It was actually very difficult to write so I hope it's ok. I need your opinion and also whether you want the baby to survive. Let me know what you think?

Chapter Five

Joan took a bite of the toast, barely tasting it as Sherlock watched her, his eyes intense and focused completely on her. He had been discussing a "string" in Moriarty's web. The consulting criminal had been using a baron's son to extort money for a client. He was close to finding the boy and, before they would be spirited away to safety by Mycroft, the man had information. Information that Sherlock needed. 

His focus had been stronger the more time he spent with Joan despite her limited input in conversation which always finished with her requesting her freedom. She had little interest in the case but the small amount she did say seemed to stir the man into excitement and stimulate his mind into, before, unconsidered possibilities. 

She had started eating a small amount, enough to have the doctor remove the tubing but it was still far below what was necessary. She felt shame and embarrassment every time Sherlock and her engaged in sex. The last time had been shocking. Sherlock had spent hours focusing on her, using his tongue, his fingers, kissing and fretting and excited over every change he could see. 

It was confusing and frightening and Joan didn't understand it. She tried to fight her body's reaction but the man was as skilled in pitting her body against her as he was in solving puzzles, almost reveling in getting at least one orgasm from her every time he had sex with her. It had become a goal of his, as if he was collecting each orgasm and keeping them. Taking her apart piece by piece. She knew she needed to leave before she was no longer herself.

Sherlock rarely let her out of his sight, as if he knew every moment was limited and precious. She knew he would be leaving again soon and Joan had been busy thinking, waiting for an opportunity to escape. Every chance she was alone, which was becoming increasingly rare, she watched everything around her. She noted the timing of the guards, the staff, camera positions, every detail she could to give her the best chance. The only thing she couldn't escape from was the damn ankle tracker. 

The thing was impossible to get off. Every time she thought about it, her leg cramped, the feeling of being trapped bringing back her limp. It was like a damn millstone wrapped around her neck, weighing her down. 

Pushing the plate away, Joan looked out the window, her mind cataloging the time and each movement of the staff. Sherlock moved her plate closer, encouraging her to eat more but Joan just stared out the window, thinking. 

"You need to eat more." He told her.

Joan just hummed in response and Sherlock's fist clenched and slammed on the table startling Joan into looking at him. "Stop fighting me. Stop fighting what is inevitable and unchangable." 

Joan felt a surge of anger, at everything and everyone. How dare Sherlock think this was how things are. He had no damn right. Joan stood and grabbed the plate, throwing it across the room and shattering it against the wall, eggs and tomatoes sliding down the wallpaper.

"Don't tell me this is inevitable and unchangeable. I will never accept this for as long as I live." Joan snapped and Sherlock's eyes widened slightly before a wall came down, his expression shuttering and becoming like stone. 

"It is, though. It is inevitable and unchangeable. This is your new home and it is where you will remain until it is safe for you to return to Baker Street. This is fact. Your emotionalism will not change this fact no matter how hard you try." His eyes became dark as he looked at her, stating what he believed as fact. It certainly seemed like it because she hadn't been able to escape yet. 

Joan suddenly felt a cramp, low in her abdomen and her fingers clawed the table as she struggled to control her reaction. Sherlock's eyes narrowed on her and Joan sat back down, hoping for him to write it off as her "emotionalism". She couldn't stop the small sliver of hope, though. 

Was she miscarrying? It would certainly be a lot easier to escape if she wasn't pregnant. She needed to stay calm and in character. Despite Sherlock's belief that she was a poor actor, she was determined to play her part to get out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He waved her away and focused on the problem. Relationships had never been his strongsuit. Emotions were difficult. He didn't understand why she could not accept her new life. He was trying to keep her safe, give her everything that she would need and connect with her. He knew she had loved him when they were friends. Why not now that they could finally be together and she was safe?

She was his. His one and only. His brief forays into relationships in his youth had always ended in disaster. Victor Trevor in university had been a colossal mistake. He had opened his heart and the man had tore it from his chest, destroying it and Sherlock, in his usual way of dealing with things, had gone down the dark path of heroine, cocaine, and any drug he could access.

He had only been clean for a few years, finally being able to move out of his brother's incessant, and often irritating, care when he had met her. It had been rather fortuitous, making him be able to move into 221b rather than the basement flat as he hadn't had access to his trust fund at that point. Joan Watson had been the missing piece, his omega to his alpha, completing him in a way he had not thought possible. To see her sharing in the joy and excitement in a case had made it more exciting than just the facts. To know that she was on his side, that he wasn't alone, had been his salvation but also his undoing when he had fallen for her; when he had seen her about to be taken from him when Moriarty had put that Semtex on her.

To see anger directed at him rather than her usual affection was painful. He may pride himself on his portrayal of being a sociopath but he did feel. Joan brought that out in him and he would not, nor could not lose her. In time she would understand and forgive him. He needed her. Knowing she was safe, even though it was against her will, helped him to focus. He needed to focus to take down every threat. 

Moriarty had been clever in finding his heart but had made the critical mistake of showing his hand. He would be taken down and Sherlock was going to be the one to do it. 

"Brother mine, trouble in paradise?" Mycroft sauntered in, eyeing the mess on the wall before taking Joan's vacated seat. 

Sherlock scowled, despising the fact that he needed Mycroft's assistance and the fact that his brother was able to read him. 

"Don't start, Mycroft." He growled low but Mycroft was incessant in his attempts to gain his attention.

"I do see friction between yourself and Miss Watson. Perhaps I could-" There he became serious, his grey eyes watching his younger brother for a reaction. "-assist in some way. Her refusal to fully accept her situation is rather a distraction to you." His grey eyes drifted to the mess dripping down the wallpaper. "There are methods I could employ. Hypnotism, medications that have been deemed safe during pregnancy, -"

"No, Mycroft. I will not have you meddling any further." He narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. His brother was unnerving at times, cold and calculating. He looked forward to the time when he would no longer be in his debt and he could move on and get back to his passion. This puzzle, though fascinating, was not what he wanted. He had to solve it for the one he loved.

"As you wish." He waved a hand and a staff member walked over to clean the mess from the wall. Mycroft waited until the woman left before continuing his talk.

"Have you made any progress?" 

"Poland." 

Mycroft nodded. "Well, that's not very imaginative of Moriarty." 

Sherlock hmmed and his eyes drifted to the door. 

"I will have your tickets ready by morning, the usual protocols in place." 

He was loath to leave Joan in his brother's care but needs must. The only satisfaction he had was that Joan despised him as well. He had seen the fading fork mark on his hand. It had been rather satisfying to see. It showed that she still had the spirit he admired so much about her. 

He watched his brother leave and followed shortly thereafter to spend his remaining time with Joan. It was surprising that he wanted boring with her. A child, a home, but he wanted it all. He wanted her at his side and this would ensure it. Her code of honor would demand she stay if there was an innocent involved and Sherlock wanted a part in that. To see the infinite combination possibilities of the two of them together in one package. 

He walked through the halls of the estate, considering how to spend their last day and night together. Perhaps a night watching her sleep. He enjoyed that, cataloging every part of her and committing it to her place in his mind palace. It kept him alive remembering every detail about her and the fact that she would be there waiting for him. 

She now always had a part of him with her to carry her through their time apart. She may resent it now but, in time, she would understand. She had to. 

The moment he stepped into their room, he knew something was wrong. Normally, she was sat at the desk reading one of the books from the library. She had said it was an escape for her mind because otherwise it would stagnate with nothing to occupy it. He respected that but it was silent and she was nowhere to be found. 

He turned and saw the light under the bathroom door but the shadows were wrong. His heart started to race. Speeding across the room, Sherlock wrenched the door open and fell to his knees. Joan was on the floor, unconscious and pale as snow.

He could smell the copper tang of blood and felt his breakfast threatening to make an appearance as he saw that there was a small amount of blood on her tan trousers. He knew the risks associated with her condition, the stress she had been feeling being locked away for her safety. 

"MYCROFT!"


End file.
